Drinking
by SpellotapedSnidget
Summary: Everyone has lost something during the war. After the fighting is over there's nothing to distract you from that fact. Follow George Weasley, detached twin, and Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, as they struggle to cope.
1. A Drinker And A Drunk

_**Disclaimer:**_ _Of course I own nothing but the plot bunnies. Credit goes to the incredible J.K. Rowling._

 _ **A/N:**_ _Just something that popped into my head. I'd love to hear your opinion on it. Enjoy._

 _ **TRIGGER WARNING:**_ _Alcohol abuse is mentioned. If you have any issues with that, turn away from this story or be careful while reading._

* * *

George Weasley was no drinker. You could see it from afar. He wasn't used to the burning liquid running down his throat. You could see him grimacing every time he drowned the amber fluid in his glass. He wasn't used to the alcohol morphing into his blood. You could see the unsteadiness with which he moved. No, George Weasley was no drinker. Not yet. But he would be. You could see it from afar.

And that was from where he watched him ordering another drink a slur already in the ginger's voice. From afar. He did everything from afar these days. Trying to hide from the public. Why he was in a place like the Leaky Cauldron now he couldn't tell to save his life. But with his hood pulled down sitting in a dark corner of the pub he hadn't been noticed much. Hell, it even took the waitress 15 minutes to catch sight of him and ask for his order. In another life he would have been infuriated by her behaviour. Now he was only thankful he could shrink into the shadows so easily.

George Weasley had already moved on to his next drink. He gesticulated clumsily in the general direction of the barkeeper who seemed to think the ginger had had enough for one night. However, the man appeared to have remembered who was sitting in front of him and sighed as he poured the war hero another round of the amber liquid. After all, if anyone had a right to drink himself into oblivion it was probably the Weasley boy.

The ginger had had seven drinks as far as he could tell. Naturally the hooded figure didn't know what had happened before George Weasley had entered the pub but since then he was sure it had been seven times in which the boy had raised the glass to his mouth. And he was wasted. No, George Weasley was no drinker. He himself had had no less than five glasses of firewhiskey and the light feeling was only at the brim of his mind, only beginning to creep into his body. But then again he had had a lot of practice over the last two years.

The war hero stumbled as he made his way down the bar stool and out of the pub. Well, he had always been a bit clumsy, at least from his point of view. But it was clear that the alcohol had blurred his vision and his movements. Pulling his hood tight he followed the ginger out onto Diagon Alley. He had paid already. He always did nowadays. It was a habit he had gained after the war. Just in case he needed to make a quick exit.

George Weasley swayed visibly as he made his way down the street to his shop. Twice he ended up stumbling against something. Something as solid as a brick wall. Something no one would normally miss. As he reached the door he fumbled with his keys but was never able to put them into the lock. Three times he removed the metal objects from the ground before giving up and sitting down next to them. A nerve-racking attempt of laughter escaped his lips as he sat there his upper body slumped against the door. It was only one step away from lunacy.

He didn't know why or how but his feet carried him to the pitiful figure on the ground. In a swift movement he picked the keys up and opened the door. The ginger's mind must have been more clouded than he had thought as he fell right onto his back when the door gave way behind him. It appeared he hadn't even noticed him approaching. With thin lips he grabbed his arm hoisting him off the ground.

"Geroff me!" The slurred words hadn't much force in them so he ignored them entirely.

After some time he found the staircase to the flat. It almost took them five minutes to climb the twelve steps and he was already drenched in sweat as he pushed the ginger onto the sofa, the disgusting smell of alcohol in his nose. His hood slid down at the effort revealing white blonde hair that reflected the shimmering moonlight which fell through the window.

"You." George exclaimed. Draco clenched his jaw at the hostile tone of the drunkard but otherwise remained silent. He was used to it. And in addition to his bad public reputation there was their personal history which hadn't been at all positive. So it wasn't surprising really that the ginger reacted the way he did. Silently Draco agreed with his hatred. He loathed himself for the things he had done, the way he had acted.

"Wha' you're doin' here?" The disapproval was plain in his voice. The blonde boy didn't react to it. Instead he walked over to the sink and poured a glass of water.

"Drink." George must have been really drunk or Draco must have met Mrs. Weasley's tone because the ginger obeyed without question.

"He's gone." Draco hadn't expected the older boy to speak again. And he cringed at the desperation in his voice. The hurt. The longing. The guilt. Everything of it was distinct in his scrunched up face, in his pleading tone, in his pained eyes.

Suddenly Draco's heart began racing, his breath began to quicken and he wanted nothing more than to break their gaze and run. Run away from this place as fast and far as he could. To obliviate his mind from this scene, from the image of the boy in front of him. The boy he had only ever known to be laughing over jokes or to be fierce while playing Quidditch. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the deep brown ones in front of him. Bottomless. Haunted. He could imagine falling without end by looking into his eyes. Agony. Despair. He recognized it in them. If it hadn't been for the brown colour it could have been a mirror. He knew he would detect the same things in his own eyes.

He gulped but George didn't see it. His lids had begun to drop slowly down and his last words before he gave in to sleep were barely audible. Hadn't Draco been so close he wouldn't have caught the mumbling which fell from the ginger's lips.

"Why is he dead when you are still alive? How is that fair?"

A lump formed in Draco's throat and a cold wrapped itself around his heart.

"It isn't." The whisper was only for him to hear as the ginger had already begun to snore loudly. He made sure to pull his hood tight as he left the shop. There was almost no sound when his cloak swept around the corner and his feet hurried over the cobbled street. The loud crack tore the silence apart as Draco Malfoy disappeared. Nothing indicated that he had ever been there.

George Weasley was no drinker. Not yet. You could see it from afar. But Draco Malfoy was. And today he was leaning on it as if his life depended on it.


	2. The Day Before

_**A/N:** The story was originally intended as a one-shot. However, somehow my mind kept wandering back to it and slowly a vague outline of a story formed in my mind. So I give it a shot. _

_I'd love to get a glimpse of your thoughts. How do you like the story thus far? Should it have stayed a one-shot? Feel free to point out mistakes as I'm not a native english speaker._

* * *

George groaned as he sat up. His head hurt badly, his mouth was dry and his neck was stiff as hell. Slowly, he peeled his lid back and instantly cringed when the sunlight forced its way in. It seemed as if he had slept on the sofa though how he got there was a complete mystery to him.

Images flashed up in his mind, appearing in no reasonable order. It would be so much easier to make sense of them if his head would just stop hurting. It did not however and so George decided to get some water. With another groan he opened his eyes all the way, demanding them to focus. The first thing which he registered was a glass in front of him. The ginger grabbed it and made his way to the sink.

 _Drink._ The word echoed around his head as he drowned the liquid. George squeezed his eyes shut again, remembering the weird dream he had had. Alcohol sure did strange things to a person. But he had needed it yesterday. It had been one of _those_ days.

The images came back with sudden force and he knew immediately that he didn't want to make sense of them anymore. However, his mind chose otherwise.

The day had started well enough. He had been fine. As fine as he could get nowadays, anyway. He had gotten up, made himself breakfast and had almost eaten a whole bowl of cereal before going down to continue fixing the shop.

An image of the opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes interrupted the line of yesterday's events. The memory shone brightly in George's mind, just as if it wanted to underline how joyful the time had been in comparison to the present. Currently their shop was a mere ruin, rubble and dust still blocked the back room while the main room had nearly been emptied. It was a grey, grim sight which matched his mood perfectly. Their crumbled place reminded him of his shattered inside, broken and in disarray. No, it wasn't _their_ place anymore, was it? It was _his_ place. _His_ shop. _His_ flat. _His_ detached life.

Some kind of choked tune escaped his throat and the despair formed his face into a grimace. The ginger rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands to erase the thoughts threatening to take over at the brim of his mind.

He had continued fixing the shop. The muggle way. It was much more satisfying when his sweat dripped down his temple and his muscles got sore. The energy which left his body felt more real this way, more profound than losing it by magic. After a while his stomach had begun to growl. George had been reluctant to leave the sanctuary of his solitude but had to acknowledge his need for food eventually. With the intention to grab something, anything, to eat and return with his goods to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he had stepped out into Diagon Alley.

It had been a bright day, sunny and warm. Like all days since the day his world had tumbled down upon him. Mocking him with the sound of chirping birds and the comfortable rays of sunlight caressing his skin. A perfect pre-summer month that was nothing like perfect at all.

George had kept his gaze down and had hurried along the street, desperate to return to the shop as quickly as possible. In his haste he had crashed into another person, causing them both to stumble. He had been on the verge of apologising and continuing on his way when the other person had spoken.

"Hello, George. It's good to see you. How are you holding up?"

He had made the mistake to meet her gaze instead of just answering with his usual "fine" and brushing past her. It had been Penelope Clearwater. He had never had much to do with her. The only things he knew about her were that she had been a Ravenclaw prefect and had been snogging his brother Percy for a few months. And that really was it. George was sure that she didn't know much more about him either.

He had cleared his throat to answer, knowing the longer he remained silent the harder it would be to get away.

"Erw, fine. I'm fine. Listen I've got to hurry, I…"

"Are you opening the shop again?"

"Erw, well, I…"

"You look as if you've been working on reconstructing it."

It was true of course. His clothes had been covered in dust and his face had probably been smeared with dirt. But in truth he had no intention on opening the shop again. It was just some kind of therapy for him, just something to keep him busy, to occupy his mind and exhaust his body. To help him fall asleep.

"I'm sure Fred would have liked that. He would have been proud of you."

"Right. I've got to go. Nice seeing you again."

He had sidestepped her and had walked, as fast as his feet could go without running, back in the direction of the shop. His hunger had been gone as anger had occupied the spot in his stomach. How dared she? Penelope Clearwater. She hadn't even known Fred. She didn't know what he would have liked.

George remembered her greeting. He hated it to be called by his name. Back then only very few people were able to tell them apart and therefore he was seldom addressed by his given name. But now… now everyone knew of course who he was because there was no one left who looked like him.

Everyone knew of the casualties. And his family had played a key role in the war, mainly because of his little brother Ron. But they had been in the thick of things right from the beginning. Friends of Harry Potter. Members of Dumbledore's Army. Members of the Order of the Phoenix. Members of Potterwatch. It was only normal that everyone would know about the impact the Battle of Hogwarts had had on their family.

And another image forced itself into his head. A body. Limbs contorted. Blood trickling from its smiling face. Dead eyes. Ginger hair. It was him dead, only it wasn't. It was worse. It wasn't him, it was _him_. Bile was rising in his throat. George barely made it to the sink in time.

He choked a few times more and remained standing hunched over the sink until he was sure nothing was left that could leave his body. Dizziness crept into his head. It was not surprising as alcohol had been George's main nourishment yesterday.

He remembered returning to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and ramming his fist into the nearest boulder. Shaking with rage and despair he had punched the stone again and again until his knuckles had bled and his breathing had come rapid and forceful. Afterwards he had taken a shower. With set jaw he had watched the water wash the blood on his knuckles away. He had stood still, rigid, under the pattering droplets, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists, trying to calm down, to get a grip on himself. It hadn't worked. Penelope's words had echoed around his head, louder and louder as if they had rebounded from the tiles in the bathroom.

 _I'm sure Fred would have liked that._ Would he have? Surly not. It had been _their_ dream. A shared vision of their future.

 _How are you holding up?_ He didn't. Not in the slightest. He was falling apart.

The ginger had stepped out of the shower in a desperate need for a drink, something strong and acrid. Something to burn his rotten inside, to cloud his troubled mind and bless him with oblivion. However, there had been no alcohol in his flat as George had thrown every drop away after his last breakdown. So he had gone to the Leaky Cauldron.

And that was it. More, he couldn't remember.

With another groan George hoisted himself away from the sink and got ready for one more day that would be spent fixing something unfixable. Because Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes would never be the same and neither would he. As he stepped into the main room his gaze landed on the faint traces of blood covering the boulder. Transfixed he stared at it for several more heartbeats before he acknowledged that he wouldn't be able to work today without the dreadful images invading his mind. The ginger made sure he had enough Galleons in his pocket before he stepped out into Diagon Alley and turned to the Leaky Cauldron.

When he drowned the first glass Penelope's voice made another appearance in his head.

 _He would have been proud of you._

His consciousness drew a picture of his current self in his mind. A broken figure hunched over a glass of alcohol. Grim and gloomy, without any shred of happiness.

 _He would have been proud of you._

Quickly George ordered a second glass and as the evening morphed into night Penelope's voice became quieter and eventually disappeared.


	3. Morning Routine

_**A/N:** First of all: THANK YOU _ Guest _(whoever you may be) for the first review I've ever gotten! I was doing a wild happy-dance while grinning like a Cheshire cat for much too long :)_

 _Second: As "Harry Potter and the cursed child" has now been released (and most of us will have read it) I just want you to know that even if this story proceeds to this timeline (which I highly doubt) it will not follow the script. Nor will any of my other stories as I sadly didn't like it that much. I liked the cover though... And I guess it could be a good play... maybe... (If anyone wants to talk about the "Cursed Child" feel free to PM me!)_

* * *

He was hunched over the sink, gripping the ends tightly with his hands. The mirror above showed an image of his almost unrecognizable self. With emotionless eyes the boy regarded his reflection, sucking in the small ugly details that made all the difference. Most prominent was his skin. It had always been pale but now the aristocratic puppet-like colour had turned ashen, sick. As if he was covered in dust, as if he hadn't been used in quite a long time. Dark bags lay under his eyes, giving them a hollow look. Eyes always made a difference in one's appearance but his didn't help adding life to his image. Maybe it was the steel grey colour which merged seamlessly into his skin, the blue specks having almost disappeared. Maybe it was the red in his whites that erased any bright pure colour from his face. Maybe it was the dull look. Briefly he wondered about this. His eyes still reflected the bathroom lights, visualized as glossy specks. So how was it even possible that the grey orbs were this lifeless? His white blonde hair was still of the same colour but somehow seemed faded anyway. Stubbles were appearing on his face, the last missing piece to provide him with the look of the drunkard he was.

His gaze shifted to the small bottle on the right side of the sink. The milky, pale-green liquid would erase his hangover symptoms in an instant. One flask of it accompanied by some disguising spells and the Malfoy heir would look representable once more. He knew it would work. He had used it almost every morning over the last year and although more sporadic but still quite often the last two years. A large stack was ever-present in his cupboard. All of them had one. You weren't allowed to appear less than perfect as a Pureblood, as a Slytherin and especially as a Malfoy.

Draco knew he shouldn't linger. It had become a habit of him. Delaying getting ready, stretching the pain. It was laughable. The pounding headache and the feint nausea wasn't nearly a strong enough punishment for him. But he bathed in it a few seconds longer before he knocked the liquid back and went on with his morning routine.

When he finally stepped into the patio his mother was already there, a book on her lap and a cup of tea in her hand. Oolong tea, most likely.

"Good morning, Draco darling. You are - again - late. Everything alright?" Narcissa regarded her son with a mix of sorrow and irritation.

"Good morning, mother. Everything is perfectly fine. You shouldn't always wait with breakfast." Draco sat down across from his mother. Instantly one of their houseelves appeared with the breakfast and a cup of coffee.

"So you would prefer it if I weren't joining you?" Narcissa's perfectly trimmed eyebrows were raised at her son.

"That's not what I meant." He pinched his nose with two of his fingers. It was much too early for such a conversation. "You're up early, I'm not. No reason to get uncomfortable because of it." He sipped his coffee regarding the food indifferently.

"You could just rise at a normal hour." If it had been Pansy across from him she would have pouted. But his mother was superior to such things. "Anyway - I missed your company yesterday evening. Did you visit Blaise?"

Draco flinched slightly at the question and was thankful that his mother had directed her attention to the scone on her plate.

"No. I was just taking a drink at the Leaky Cauldron."

An astounded look lay behind Narcissa's eyes as she lifted her head. "Really? I hope you were careful. You know people are not always… happy to see us these days."

The Malfoy heir snorted at her comment. Not happy? That was the understatement of the century. "Don't worry, mother. I can look after myself. I think I had enough opportunities to learn it."

A strained silence engulfed the table. Narcissa froze for a moment and Draco thought he could see her eyes watering. But if he was right the tears never spilled. The Malfoys knew how to keep their composure.

They were saved by the doorbell. A houseelf appeared to announce their guest and the distraction was welcomed.

"Excuse Pokey, Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy, for interruption. Mr. Zabini is at the door. Should Pokey let him join you or better take him to Mr. Malfoy's office?"

"Bring him to us, Pokey. And bring another cover." Narcissa beat Draco in answering and her son frowned at it. Blaise was, after all, his friend.

The Italian boy entered the patio with a blinding smile and went over to the Malfoy matriarch to plant a barely-there kiss on her hand.

"Narcissa, you look breathtaking, as always."

"And you, Blaise, are a charmer. A lying one, but a charmer nevertheless." She smiled at him, gesturing for the tanned boy to sit.

"But I would never lie." Blaise said. When Narcissa arched her eyebrows he added. "Ok, maybe, once in a while, I do. But this was not one of them." He winked at her.

"Would you stop flirting with my mother and tell me what you want." Draco interrupted their banter.

"Ah Draco, always the morning person. What's bitten you, sunshine?"

The blonde boy rolled his eyes. Really, why did everyone have to act so cheerful? The war may have ended but they had been on the wrong side. Draco admitted the world was better off without the Dark Lord but that did not mean everything was sunshine and roses.

"Well, we have a date. Forgot?" As Draco frowned at him, Blaise added. "With Theo, Daphne and Astoria. Remember?"

"I don't think I agreed to that."

"No, you didn't. But you skipped the last four gatherings, so I decided you hid long enough."

"I'm really not in the mood, Blaise."

"Darling, I think you should go. Meet with your friends. You always had so much fun together."

The past tense hung heavily in the air and all three of them knew it. The war had separated them. And to be completely honest they hadn't been this close to begin with. Their positions in society were spread as far apart as they could considering they all had been Slytherins and Purebloods. The Greengrass family had stayed neutral in the war which was a rare gift to get. But as they were part of the Sacred 28 the Dark Lord had had no interest in harming them as long as they stayed out of the way. Blaise and his mother had always been good in charming their way through life. And that time had been no different. Even though they had been more involved in the Dark Lord's activities, neither of the Zabinis had received the Dark Mark. Theodore was probably the one farthest away from Draco's position even though he had started off quite similar. They both were part of the Sacred 28, both their fathers were faithful followers of the Dark Lord. But Draco had taken the Dark Mark - for whatever reasons - and Theo… Theo had defected. He had chosen the winner side, Draco had not. However, the thing that separated him from all of them was that he was branded. And that meant he was an outcast, someone you spit upon if you meet them in the streets, someone from whom you hide your kids. Also, his family had been well known and had been high ranking in the social order. Therefor their fall was the hardest.

"Come on, mate. What do you have to lose?"

"Alright." Draco huffed. Blaise was right. There was nothing he had to lose. It wasn't as if Draco wasn't anxious to see the others again - he hadn't met any of them since the end of the war and especially meeting Theo made his stomach turn - but, apart from his trip to the Leaky Cauldron yesterday (which had been a straight-forward disaster), he hadn't really left Malfoy Manor. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic and, this being said, he was sure that, sooner or later, staying alone with his troubling thoughts in an almost empty house would drive him crazy.

So Draco found himself standing next to Blaise in front of the Greengrass estate one hour later. Being there now, he did not know what had possessed him to join the Italian. But before he could gather his senses Blaise had knocked on the door. A houseelf opened and showed them into the living room where the other three persons were already waiting. Although his mask did not waver, Draco felt his heartbeat quicken and panic rise up his neck.

"Draco! How nice to see you." Daphne had spoken first and the surprise on her face spelled out clearly that none of them had expected him to agree to come along. But she did not look like it was an unpleasant surprise and he felt his heart lift a bit.

"Daphne, Astoria. Nice to see you again." Draco nodded at them and even managed a small smile.

"Oh yeah, I don't like your face either, but you could at least keep up appearance. Did you forget all the manners that were thumped into us since our childhood? Really, and such a behavior by a Malfoy. Ts." Theo smirked at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. In fact, Draco thought he had never seen the boy's eyes so alive. The difference to his own orbs was enormous.

"Still the jokester, are you Nott?" Draco answered and felt the relief wash through him.

"Well, somebody has to lighten up the mood, with all your miserable faces around. Speaking of it: How's your father?" Theo noticed the flicker of shock cross the other's faces. "What? No use in not acknowledging the elephant in the room, is there?"

"Theo." Blaise hissed at the lanky boy and shot him a glare that clearly told him to shut up.

"Alright, alright. No need to get your knickers in a twist."

"Ok, how about we settle down outside? It's a sunny day after all. And yes Theo, I know I'm talking about the weather to ease the tension, so shut it." Astoria said as Theodore opened his mouth to speak again. But though her voice was a bit strained, a smile was playing around her lips. "By the way, our father is fine, thanks for asking. He and our mother are enjoying their vacation in France."

Daphne and Blaise exchanged exasperated looks but all of them followed the youngest Greengrass outside. It did turn out to be a nice day. They did not touch any serious topics after Theo's comment though that was probably for the best. Draco still left rather early but none of the others said a word about it. All of them considered it a success that he had joined them at all.

However, as Draco sat in his room later that day the silence weighted down heavy upon him. Theo's question kept echoing in his head and the familiar mix of feelings of anger, self-hatred and despair settled back in his stomach. Before he knew it he had called a houseelf to bring him the desired alcohol. And as he drowned the liquid he wasn't even sure if it was because of his father and his own part in the war or because he envied Theo for his eyes which held all the optimism his own lacked. Maybe it was also because of their altered interaction with each other or because of all the topics which, even now, remained out of bounds. Maybe it was just out of habit. It didn't matter where the feelings came from. All that mattered was that alcohol made them disappear.


	4. Battle Plans And Ministry Officials

_**A/N:** Wow, two months. I'm terrible at uploading. Hope you still read it anyway :)_

 _I also had the first problems with formatting (at least, the first I know of). Therefore, I'm terrible sorry but I couldn't think of any other way to "cross out" words than write it after the should-be-crossed-out-word. :(_

* * *

His sleepy mind noticed the tapping on his arm but he didn't want to wake up just yet. It was probably Ginny again, nagging him and Fred until all three of them plotted how to get to the cookies on the highest shelf on the left side. Suddenly a sharp pain shot through his index finger and – cursing – he jolted upright. Blood was trickling from it, not much but enough that another string of curse words slipped from his mouth. Irritated, he glared around to find the source of his injury. Immediately his eyes fell on the old tattered owl which looked accusingly at him as if _he_ had bitten into _its_ wing.

"Errol. What are you doing here, old man?" George ran a hand through his hair, suddenly a tad nervous by his family owl's arrival. Errol only hooted shifting from one foot to the other and still glaring at the redhead. The owl must have tried to wake him for a while.

George hurried to remove the note from its leg and flicked his wand to conjure up a bowl of water. Errol nibbled the liquid thankfully. He really was quite old.

The handwriting could easily be recognized as his mother's. George scanned the note quickly and let out a small breath as he finally took the topic in. Family dinner on Sunday. No one was hurt or had vanished or – died. The war was over – Voldemort had been finished for good – since over a month now, and he still expected the worst every time he got a message. He guessed it would stay that way for a while.

When George emerged from his musings he saw Errol gazing at him inquisitively, his head cocked to one side. The ginger hurried to scribble an answer which really didn't answer anything. It was one of these I'd-love-to-come-but-I'm-really-not-sure-if-I-can-make-it-notes that left him with the freedom to play it by ear. Most likely it meant no.

The old owl seemed to know what he had written and stayed a short time longer, even after he had attached the note to its leg, to look into the ginger's eyes. It might have been the residual alcohol in his blood, but if anyone had asked George, he was sure he'd have said Errol had regarded him with a sad and sorrowful look. However the moment passed and the old owl flew away.

Huffing, the ginger turned around and acknowledged his surroundings for the first time since he had woken up. At first he was confused but he realized quickly that he hadn't made it to his flat yesterday night and instead had just settled down in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Had he really been that drunk? Apparently so. Even though he was sure he hadn't been as drunk as the day before and that night he at least had made it to the sofa. He really had to stop drinking.

With that thought in his head his eyes fell on the bloodstained boulder and a grim determination settled in his stomach. The look in his orbs may have counted as madness as he removed the stone with one swift wave of his wand. George was breathing heavily as if he had just run a mile. His head was spinning and with a heavy thud he sat down, putting his head into his hands.

It was defeat and victory at the same time. The ginger had sworn to himself to fix the shop without magic. So vanishing the boulder with his wand had clearly been against the rules and therefor he had lost. Whatever it was he had lost. Maybe his dignity or self-discipline or some other thing he couldn't quite place. It also felt as if he had betrayed Fred, as if he didn't honour his brother's memory.

But then again, George knew he would have had another breakdown (or a few of them) while removing the stone by hand. Therefor getting rid of it at all was a victory.

When his heartbeat had finally reached a normal pace, George decided that it would not do to carry on the way he did. A breakdown every few days which led to him laying drunk in a corner the next day, waking up in the afternoon, smelling of alcohol and sweat and sometimes even vomit wasn't something he was eager for. The following headaches weren't anything he liked either. The ginger needed a battle plan.

He accioed parchment, quill and ink and scribbled " _How to get through the_ ". George stopped there. What should he put as a last word? Day? Much too short. He had managed to get through the day before and had ended up drunk on the floor nevertheless. Week wasn't much better. But year? Year would include Halloween, Thanksgiving, Birthdays and Christmas. His head began spinning just by thinking of that. Maybe summer? Summer was long enough to make sure he wouldn't fall back into the routine which would slowly but steadily destroy him. And although there would be some challenging events on the way, most dates would not be touched during the timespan. Satisfied, he wrote " _summer_ " onto the parchment, underlining the title and went on with a list.

It took George most of the day to finish the paper and although it did not read much he was now proudly regarding his work.

 _How to get through the summer_

 _\- Take a shower (immediately)_

 _\- Stay away from the Leaky Cauldron and any other bar_

 _\- Don't let any alcohol cross your doorstep_

 _\- Eat regularly_

 _\- Fix the shop (muggle way)_

 _\- Identify everything that makes you want to drink and evade it_

The last item had needed a list for its own and although George was sure he hadn't spotted everything yet, it read:

 _Evade:_

 _\- Penelope Clearwater_

 _\- Fred's room_

 _\- Fred's and my room at the burrow_

 _\- Hogwarts_

 _\- Rita Skeeter and the like_

 _\- Mirrors (crossed out)_

 _\- Windows at night (crossed out)_

 _\- Spoons (crossed out)_

 _\- Everything reflective_

George stood up with the intention to attend to the first item on his list. Battle plan. A fitting name. Because even after the war, for most people the fighting is not over.

* * *

Draco tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest. Little finger down to index finger performed a flowing wave and created a soft, hoof-like sound. He hated waiting. He had always hated to wait but being left to wait for another person was just insufferable. First he had waited in front of her office. Half an hour. When he finally had been called in, she had shuffled through her papers and only stopped for a second to frown at him and say: "Well, sit down already."

That had been eight minutes ago and the ministry official still wrote on some bloody paper. Draco was ready to scream in frustration. No one let a Malfoy wait! But that had been before the war. Now, everyone let them wait. Draco was sure they did it on purpose. But he could play this game. He would not speak before she did. No sound would escape his lips.

"Malfoy. Where is it now? Ah yes, here it is…" The woman reached for a file on which _Draco Lucius Malfoy_ was written.

"Mr. Malfoy, all your magical activities are being recorded by your anklet as are the places you are visiting. This file", she held it up to emphasize her words, "lists those activities and places." The witch looked at him in an inquisitive way. "Did you understand what I said?"

"Yes." Of course he had understood. He wasn't dumb and anyway, he had been told all that before. Draco only just managed to not roll his eyes.

"Well, you're here for your weekly check-up."

Another thing that was obvious. What else should bring him to enter a building full of wizards and witches who despised him and reporters who wanted to erase the last bits of his dignity by writing exaggerated articles about his family?

"Your assigned ministry worker has called in sick and won't be able to attend to your case for the next couple of weeks, so I'll fill in for him." The woman wrinkled her nose. Clearly she was not happy about filling in. Or maybe she just didn't like her co-worker.

The guy had been a jerk. A fat man in his fifties with a habit to always have something to eat and drink in reach, the only good thing about him had been that he didn't care one bit about his work. If Draco had had to work with the self-righteous bastard it would have driven him mad but as it was, his laziness did leave him with much more freedom than he could have hoped for. Usually Draco had just sat in the office for ten minutes and then left without anything having been discussed. It seemed these glorious days were over.

"My name is Cassandra Abrams. I will not tolerate rudeness, lies or lateness. Is this understood?"

Draco thought it a double standard that she expected him to be punctual when she had let him wait for so long. Nevertheless he said "Yes.", in a neutral, slightly bored tone.

"As far as I can see, your magical activities have been kept in a normal range. A few apparitions, accios… quite a lot of disguising spells." She looked at him. "What are they for?"

Draco clenched his jaw and struggled to keep his calm while he answered. "To get rid of dark circles around the eyes. I'm not always sleeping well."

Mrs. Abrams frowned and turned back to her papers. "Hm… I see the disguising spells are almost every time followed by bathroom charms. So that might be correct."

Now it was Draco's turn to wrinkle his forehead. _Might be correct_?

"Alright, places. You're not leaving your home often. You went a few times to the estates of", she reached for another paper, "Zabini and Greengrass. Friends, I guess?" The ministry worker did hardly wait for his response before she went on. "Only once you've been to Diagon Alley. Gringotts, the Leaky Cauldron and… wait a moment. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?"

Draco groaned inwardly. It had been weeks ago. He thought he had gotten away with that.

"What was your business there? At eleven in the evening."

"Nothing. Weasley was a fellow student at Hogwarts."

Cassandra Abrams regarded him over her glasses with a long look which he didn't avert his eyes from. After what seemed like hours to Draco the ministry lady turned towards yet another paper.

"Well, none of the Weasleys has asked for a restraining order or else aurors would have been called immediately. And I read here that Ronald Bilius Weasley has spoken as a witness in your trial… so as long as I don't hear any complaints by the inhabitants it should be in order." Mrs. Abrams lifted her head again to meet his eyes. "Is there anything you want to add? Any questions or remarks? No? Then, you're free to go, Mr. Malfoy. We'll see us in a week. Close the door behind you."

Draco left the office being utterly annoyed. Why had she even gone through the whole list? Shouldn't she have only read last week's records? Well, he had gotten away quite easy anyway. Admittedly, it had been his fault. He was still not sure why he had followed the ginger. Maybe because it had seemed off to him to see the jokester in this state. Drunk and broken, a shadow of the former Gryffindor prankster. Draco wondered if George Weasley had gotten his act together or had continued on his downward spiral. If he'd been a gambler he would have bet on the latter. On the other hand, Gryffindors had a knack for getting out of hopeless situations.

When he reached the atrium his eyes flickered over to the row of fireplaces before he turned around and headed for the red telephone box.


	5. Finding Misery

_**A/N:** Hey there! Yeah, I am still alive. My inspiration is hiding lately but here we are again. Some short glimpses from both fiews to reunite the guys. Next chapter will be more like the previous ones (yes, I've already started it but don't get your hopes up)._

 _I hope you enjoy reading my little piece._

* * *

George glared at the parchment which lay crumbled on the floor across from him. He blamed it for everything that had gone wrong. For all the trouble, tears, angry snarls and the disgusting smell currently emanating from his body. But of course it had been him who had scribbled the words and it had been him who hadn't thought them through. Eyes. Obviously, eyes could throw his image back. Obviously, they were included in the item "everything reflective". It was clear to him now, after everything had gone downhill. He took another sip from the flask in his right hand, wondering how much longer it would take his glare to set the parchment on fire.

* * *

He swirled the liquid around in the absurdly expensive crystal glass. Nothing but the moonlight illuminated the dark room. His gaze was directed at the pompous fireplace in which only the ghosts of flames flickered, conjured by his alcohol deprived mind. Draco could hear the crackling noise, the battle fought by fire, wood and air. He could see the colours. The red, orange and yellow. The blue at the rim. The smoke curling through the air, varying from white over grey to black. He could smell it.

Draco drowned the glass in one gulp. He had to get out of this house. Out of this room. Away from the fireplace. Away from his thoughts. He slammed the glass on the table with much more force than he had intended and turned to leave his pain behind and find some new misery.

* * *

The doorbell rang loudly, cutting his solitary silence forcefully. George did not move. He knew it was either Ginny, Ron or his dad. His mom couldn't stand to look at him and neither could Percy. Bill and Charlie weren't here and there was simply no one else left. He hadn't contacted any of his former friends.

The doorbell rang again but George had no intention on opening. It was better for both sides as he knew they didn't _really_ want to see him. And he couldn't stand to see them not wanting to see him.

The doorbell did not ring a third time. He was right. They did not want to see him. He brought the bottle to his mouth and, only then, realised it was empty. All the anger and frustration welled up inside of him and he hurled the bottle across the room. It smashed through the window, leaving him alone - a picture of misery in a dimly lit room.

* * *

With a loud _pop_ Draco appeared in Diagon Alley. He stumbled slightly as he hit the cobbled street and only caught a glimpse of the lopsided, half-destroyed sign of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes before he had to jump out of the way as a bottle shattered at the place he had just stood. Cursing he looked up and detected a broken window above the shop. Draco directed his eyes to the shards next to him and deciphered the word 'whiskey'. Downward spiral it was, then. He hesitated. Later, Draco would tell everyone who'd ask that he only went in because of the alcohol in his blood.

* * *

George woke up to a heavy headache and a brilliant lit room. The light, he noticed, was provided by the sun which sent its rays through the perfectly intact window. Frowning, he looked at the clock. It was almost four in the evening. A bowl of cereal, a shower and another bewildered glance to the window and he was on his way to the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

Draco was restless. He couldn't sit still, couldn't read, couldn't wait to get away from the table. He fumbled with his silverware. Malfoys never fumbled. He didn't know why he was so restless, why his thoughts kept wandering back to the broken redhead, why he _bothered_. But he did. And it was driving him insane. After dinner, he pocketed a small vial before apparating to the Leaky Cauldron.

It was not crowded in the pub and therefor he detected George Weasley in the instant he entered. The redhead was already drunk. And he was arguing with the woman behind the bar. Draco glanced at his watch. 9pm.

"Come on, Hannah. Don't you want to earn some money?"

"You've had enough alcohol for one night, George. Here, drink some water and then go home and sleep it off." The blonde regarded George worriedly.

"You're not my mum, you know. Just give me another one."

"I won't. Now, go home or I'll make you." The women put her hands on her hips which seemed to do the trick.

"Alright, I go. But I don't think Tom would appreciate it that you turn a customer down."

Draco hurried after him, keeping his hood pulled down. It was just like the first time he had followed the redhead. George stumbled and skidded until he finally arrived at – what he thought was his shop. However, it wasn't. Draco snatched the keys from his hands and directed the ginger two houses further. After he had parked George on the sofa he placed the vial on the table with a note that told him to drink it after waking up. With a final glance around the messy room he disappeared to where he had come from.

* * *

George sat on the sofa and was staring at the small flask in front of him. Maybe he was going insane. But there it was - the proof that _someone_ had been here. Or had _he_ bought the potion in his drunken state and just couldn't remember it? He might have thought this to be true if he had ever used a hangover-potion before.

It must have been Ron. Or no, Ginny. She had probably returned the other night and repaired the window and then brought him the potion yesterday. Yeah, that was more plausible than the flashes of white blonde hair at the back of his mind.

He studied the parchment. It was no handwriting he recognised. But that didn't mean anything. Ginny would have changed her scribble so his pride wouldn't get in the way of drinking the potion. Someday, he would thank her.

* * *

It became a routine, his routine.

He would patch himself together in the morning. He would eat breakfast with his mother. He would visit Blaise or come along to the Greengrass estate every other day. He would pretend that the quality of his life had increased. He would talk and grin and ask how they were doing. He would act.

He would leave early. He would eat dinner with his mother. He would go to the Leaky Cauldron and drag Weasley home. He would leave a vial and a note. He would return to Malfoy Manor and shut himself into his room. He would drink.

It had no longer been possible to hide his interaction with Weasley completely. Hannah Abbott knew. She had seen him too many times leaving the pub right after the redhead. He was lucky though. She had come to him first, asking him what he was doing. He had answered her that he made sure Weasley arrived home safe. She had asked him why. He hadn't answered, he wasn't sure he knew. She had just looked at him. Long. And then, she had nodded. He had asked her to keep quiet. He had asked her nicely, not meeting her eye. She had told him she would not lie if she was asked but she wouldn't go around spreading the word either. He had nodded and had left. It was more than he could have hoped for. He was lucky. She was a Hufflepuff.

Hannah Abbott turned out to be rather useful. Firstly, she sent him messages whenever Weasley cracked earlier than expected. Secondly, as Cassandra Abrams had noticed his detours too, Draco had sent her to Hannah. The next time he had met the ministry worker she hadn't asked about his visits. Since then, she regarded him more intently though, as if she tried to figure out if there was more to him than met the eye. Draco felt himself become more and more uneasy every time he had to visit.

Weasley did not acknowledge him. That was the only thing that stayed the same. He complained and raged. He vomited and cried. He threw Draco looks of distrust and hate and confusion. George knew who he was, he knew Draco was there. But he never said his name, never gave a word or gesture of gratitude.

He did, however, always drink the potion.


	6. Missing Hatred

_**A/N:** I told you not to get your hopes up... I'm truly sorry - I am crab at uploading. Hope you enjoy it anyways._

* * *

"Have you guys decided what to do?" Astoria broke the lazy silence that always arose from the mix of a good meal and a hot day. "About Hogwarts."

"Always so nosy, our little one, isn't she? Yeah, I've decided to give it a shot. See how McGonagall handles the pressure. I bet her nostrils forget their natural form in less than a week." Theo peeked at Daphne. "What about you?"

"I return too. With all that was going on last year I have to repeat 7th year if I want to pass the NEWts." Daphne glanced quickly at Blaise. "I wonder how many Slytherins will, though. After the battle..."

"After the battle, I doubt a lot of our year will return – Slytherin or not. Though I guess it will be mostly Slytherins who get taught at home - even a few younger ones won't return." Blaise drew a deep breath. Lifting his head he saw Astoria looking at him questioningly. "I won't return. I've already hired a teacher so I can take NEWTs before Christmas."

"What about you Draco?"

He snorted. "I don't think returning would be a good idea."

"If you're afraid someone will attack you because of... you know-" Daphne's left arm twitched causing her cheeks to tinge red. "I mean... McGonagall wrote it's a fresh start, a clean slate..."

Before Draco had a chance to laugh at her Blaise kicked his foot. He glanced to the Italian and noticed the badly suppressed smirk on his face.

"Yeah, you'll find out for me, alright?" Draco even managed to smile at Daphne.

"He can't leave me alone, anyway? After you make a run for it, what should I do with myself, all alone?"

"Oh, you did always know what to do with yourself, Blaise." Astoria winked at him. "Tough luck winning the Quidditch Cup, though. With Potter playing little Auror, we would've had a good shot at it if you'd played seeker, Draco."

The article had appeared three days ago. That Skeeter woman had stuck her nose into ministry business again and finally found something she'd proclaimed interesting. Some Hogwarts students of their year had been asked to join the Auror training. War heroes. Fighters of the winning side didn't need NEWTs. Of course Potter had made the front page with this. Saint Harry Potter won't stop sacrificing himself before the world is a better place. The saviour. The hero.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one. Obviously, Weasley tailed after him and somehow even Longbottom had made the cut. However, it had been Potter's photograph that had graced the front page, frowning at them in black and white.

Draco knew why though. Why they were asked even without NEWTs, why they took mere boys. The ministry was weak. Many had died during the Battle of Hogwarts and many more had had enough fighting for a lifetime. Death Eaters were still roaming through the countryside and the trust in the ministry hadn't returned yet. It wasn't surprising that Potter had been welcomed into Auror training. Draco wouldn't have blinked an eye if he had been announced Head.

"It will be weird without you guys. You'll write though, won't you?" Daphne looked uncertainly at Blaise.

Draco met Theo's eyes and shared a grin.

"Sure. We can meet in Hogsmeade, too. It's not as if we won't see each other until Christmas." Blaise smiled reassuringly at Daphne. "And _we_ have to know what's going on over there. It certainly will be different."

"We sure have a few new professors." Astoria frowned at the book list that had arrived a week ago. "How about we make the trip to Diagon Alley together? It will be much more fun and we haven't been anywhere but here and at Blaise's for ages."

"Sounds good to me. As long as you two don't go dress-shopping. I've heard girls are a pain in the ass when -ouch!" Blaise slapped Theo casually on the head. "I certainly won't miss you, Blaise."

"Same here. Friday is good for everyone?" Blaise looked around. "Draco?"

"Well, I won't return, so I really don't need to go shopping."

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Don't be a poor sport. We won't be shopping forever. I've heard a new bar has opened right across that horrible divination shop. First turn is on you." She grinned at him and though Draco did not think it a good idea to be on Diagon Alley in broad daylight he felt the corners of his mouth lift and his head nod.

* * *

George stared at the note in his hand. The first few days it had only told him to drink the potion -which he did. He felt much better afterwards. It didn't stop him from getting wasted in the evening but there were no headaches or nauseas over the day which he liked. The guy who had invented the pale-green liquid had been a genius.

Over the days, however, the notes changed. Sometimes they complained about the state of his flat. The first time George had been ashamed that someone had to mention the catastrophic state before he acted on it. But he had already started a new bottle of firewhiskey today and the lights always changed their colours after the first few gulps had reached his system.

No one had the right to tell him what to do. Not about his living conditions and especially not about himself. Today's note read: "Pressing: shower and shave."

How dared he? That slimy, bleached Slytherin git!

He emptied his glass, skipped the shower and went straight to the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

Draco felt the burn instantly. He had never cared for jewellery but a chain had been the most practical thing he could think of. After he had given Hannah the plain pendant that held the Protean charm he had to find a way to feel the change at once. It had taken a while to get used to the feeling and the thought that he was wearing a _bloody_ _necklace_ but it wasn't as if he went shirtless anyway.

The moment he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron Hannah spotted him and came over.

"I'm sorry to bother you again but he's really -"

"It's fine. I asked you to. You should stop apologizing all the time. You sound like a Hufflepuff."

"I _am_ a Hufflepuff, remember?" She glared at him. "Do you really want to go into that house prejudice bullshit? Because I'm sure I'm going to win that one."

"Not so much Hufflepuff now, are we?" Draco saw Hannah turn bright red. "Anyways, where is he?"

"Over there. I dragged him away from several costumers eating soup." She pointed at the day's special on a board. "Something about spoons seems to push him over."

When Draco turned the corner he saw at once that George's state had gotten worse. The redhead was huddled on the floor, his eyes were focused on something only he seemed to see and he reeked of alcohol and sweat. Clearly, he hadn't showered in days and the odour let Draco wrinkle his nose.

"Weasley, you're stinking worse than a mountain troll. Get your arse off the ground. Now!"

Draco was angry. He had given George more of his time than was appropriate and the ginger thanked him for it by disregarding even the smallest of his orders. That George dared to show himself in public in this pitiful state was going against everything Draco had been taught and it threw oil into the flame that nurtured his rage.

When George's eyes finally focused on Draco the blonde boy saw the same flicker of anger in the brown orbs.

"You-" his voice was shaking with rage. "have no right to speak to me like that. You have no right to speak to me at all, Death Eater."

With thin lips Draco watched George struggle to get on his feet. When the ginger swung his fist at him he hadn't even to step aside as the movement destroyed George's balance. The result was that George's head hit the doorframe with a loud _plong_.

* * *

George did not understand it. It was not logical. It was not logical at all.

Malfoy was still there. Malfoy still carried him down the street and up the stairs. Malfoy still forced him to eat something and to drink water. Malfoy still brought him the potion.

After all George had done, after all he had said, Malfoy was still there. Every day he came back.

Every. Fucking. Day.

George watched Draco look around the room disgustedly before his eyes fixed on him again.

"Drink the potion now. You've got to take a shower and it's too risky in your state."

"You can't tell me what to do, I-" George stopped in midsentence. Malfoy had taken on a look of pure anger. But it was not the rage that made him shut his mouth. On the contrary, George loved to play the Slytherin, to rile him up until his self-control shattered. He had always loved to do that. Strangely, it hadn't worked until now. No, the rage was not what had made George grow silent. Maybe his alcohol deprived senses played a trick on him but even with all the anger which was clearly boiling inside Malfoy there was this strange absence of hatred.

The thought was yanked away from George's mind the next moment as Draco grabbed his jaw tightly to force his mouth open. The grey eyes glared vividly into his own.

"If you spit it out, you'll regret it."

The pale fingers were digging into his jaw painfully and though he hated himself for it George gulped the potion down when it was poured into his mouth.

The pale-green liquid needed about a minute to work. Rubbing his throbbing jaw George watched as Draco called a disorientated houseelf and ordered it in short sharp sentences to get fresh towels and cleaning utensils.

Before he knew it Malfoy had crossed the space between them and yanked him into a standing position.

"Bathroom."

George, stunned and still not quite sober, staggered to the small, tiled room. He stood like an idiot in the middle of the room doing nothing while Malfoy pulled out his wand and turned on the water. With another wave he piled the dirty towels in a corner and replaced them with fresh ones which the houseelf must have brought. George saw the Slytherin glance at the destroyed mirror but when he turned to leave all Malfoy said was: "You've got ten minutes."

George shrugged out of his robes and clambered into the bathtub. On the one hand he didn't want to listen to anyone, on the other hand it was liberating to just do what he was told and turn his brain off.

When the water touched his skin he yelped and jumped back. It was ice cold. He could hear Malfoy chuckle through the too thin walls and though he wanted to curse the blonde he couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face. Everything was just too surreal. He adjusted the temperature and began to wash the dirt off his body.

When he stepped out of the shower George noticed that the dirty towels had disappeared - together with his clothes. Shrugging he wrapped a towel around his hips and left the bathroom. The sight of his kitchen and living room let him stop in the doorframe. Everything was clean and shiny, a fresh pair of pyjamas lay on the sofa and a bowl of hot soup stood on the table. The spoon next to it was wooden.

Malfoy was still there. He hadn't noticed George arrive and so he used the moment to regard the blonde boy. He looked exhausted. His hair dishevelled, his clothes the tiniest bit crinkled. Dark circles were appearing under his eyes. Though his shoulders were slumped forwards slightly his body was tense and the fingers of his right hand grabbed the glass tightly enough that the tips had turned white. He looked defeated. The resemblance made George uneasy.

"Where are my clothes?" George strolled into the room with deliberate indifference.

Draco's head snapped up. Before he answered he drowned the liquid and put the glass on the side table. "They are being washed but will be back before you wake up. Here, try these." He threw the pyjamas to George.

"Are those yours? They won't fit. I have a Beater's arms not those skinny strings which are attached to your body."

"I've engorgioed them. And just for the record: you stripped your body from most muscles by now."

George glared at him but he knew Draco was right. His exercise consisted of the walk to the Leaky Cauldron. He had long ago stopped to work on the shop and with alcohol as his main nourishment his once muscular body had shrivelled into a thin frame.

Dropping the towel he peeled himself into the pyjamas and grabbed the bowl. With his mouth full, leaning against the counter he asked: "Why are you here?"

"Pokey is cleaning the bathroom. I wait for her."

"No, I mean why are you here at all. Why does a Malfoy clean my flat and make me food? Since when are you a maid, Malfoy? Have you lost your sacred galleons and my mum pays you some sickles to play nanny?"

George had wanted to drive Malfoy up the wall with his taunting. He had wanted to see the hatred return and therefor put the world back to normal. But as Malfoy perked up halfway through his speech he noticed his mistake a second too late. Both men stiffened and their eyes met. George had broken the only rule he had kept so stubbornly. He had called him by his name.

The silence grew uncomfortable, the stare made it that bit more unbearable. George was the first to break both.

"You've become cheap. The potion isn't working tonight."

"It's working. It's a hangover-potion, though, not a sober-up-potion."

"There's a sober-up-potion?"

"Sure. How do you not know this? Aren't you Gryffindors always the life and soul of the party?" There it was. The piece of normality they both so strongly needed. Malfoy sneered at him.

"We are but _we_ never needed alcohol to get a party going." George shot back. Still, it was more of a friendly banter than the usual venom dripping comments. "I've never been much of a drinker." He added quietly.

"Yeah, me neither." Draco's look grew reminiscent.

They both jumped when a high-pitched voice spoke up.

"Pokey has finished cleaning bathroom, sir. Will one of the sirs be needing anything before Pokey starts on bedroom?"

"Begin. I call if we need you."

However, the moment the tiny elf started to open the door it was slammed shut forcefully.

George's eyes were shadowed, his right fist was clenched tightly around his wand while the other was still firmly pressed onto the door.

"No one goes in there. You hear me, Malfoy? NO ONE! Leave now." The elf was trembling violently and looked fearfully to its master. Draco dismissed it with a sign of his hand but regarded the redhead with care.

"Weasley, what the-"

"I said GET OUT!" George had raised his wand at the Slytherin and though his aim was slightly off centre Draco took it that their moment of peace had evaporated and left with the bitter feeling of something close to progress having been snatched away from right under his fingertips.


	7. Death Eater, Pureblood, Bloodtraitor

_**A/N:** Nothing much to say... Enjoy!_

* * *

The club was loud. Wriggling bodies were rubbing against each other on the dancefloor sharing the coloured spotlight which cut the darkness epileptically.

Draco was in a foul mood. All day he had endured snide comments and hostile stares. It was time for a drink. The waiter, however, took his time to return to the private alcove a few galleons had ensured they got.

It was a high prized club Astoria had brought them to. The furniture was expensive, minimalistic in all black and white and a lot of glass. Well-placed spots tinged the room in different cool colours, the bar sported all sorts of exotic drinks and the dancefloor was surrounded by high tables and more private alcoves. A club, in other words, which was exactly to Draco's liking.

Except for the exotic drinks, that is. He preferred the old-fashioned whiskey. Somehow, Astoria had managed to snatch the menu though and had ordered the most whimsical sounding drinks she could find. When the waiter finally returned, a bluish liquid containing glass was put in front of him.

"Cheers!" Astoria exclaimed.

Blaise eyed his orange bubbling drink warily but Theo grinned and took a large swallow from his pink one. Shrugging, Draco threw the straw on the table and drank. At least, Astoria had promised alcohol.

It was awful. Sweet and milky and with a sugar coated rim. Draco thought he could hear his teeth cry out in protest. The worst part, however, was that all the sweetness completely concealed the alcohol.

Blaise slapped him on the shoulder.

"I go get us something decent." Louder he added. "Does anyone else want something from the bar?"

"I'm coming with you. I need to use the bathroom."

Daphne and Blaise disappeared into the crowd.

"How much longer do you think until they figure it out?" Theo slouched on the sofa.

"Don't make yourself comfortable down there. We're in a club. I want to dance!" Astoria offered her hands to both of them.

"As the lady wishes." Theo managed to jump back onto his feet and directly into a theatrical bow.

"That was the most athletic I have ever seen you move." A colour changing cocktail umbrella narrowly missed Draco's left ear.

"Only because you consider Quidditch the only sport in the world."

"Correction: I consider Quidditch the only sport that's worth playing, watching or talking about. On that matter, have you heard-"

"We are NOT starting a discussion over Quidditch when there's a dancefloor inches away!"

"You're right. We forgot ourselves. May I have the first dance?" Theo bowed to Draco, extending his hand as if he was a fair maiden and this was a formal dance.

"Funny." Draco said drily. "Take that clown with you, Astoria, but make sure you can deny knowing him at all time."

"We're not going without you."

"I'm good here. Have fun."

"Now, who's unathletic?" Theo smirked at him. "Come on. The best thing about a club: the lighting is lousy. Of course, that also means you don't notice if a girl is ugly before it's too late-ouch!"

Astoria had punched his arm.

"Why am I always the one who gets slapped?"

"Why are you always the one talking bullshit?" Astoria took the boys' hands and dragged them with astonishing strength onto the dancefloor. As soon as they passed the barrier of their alcove the volume turned up and Draco felt his body vibrate with the low tune of the bass.

He freed himself of Astoria's grip at a high table and watched as the two took a place nearby on the dancefloor. Shortly after he had designated the elegant glass table to his safe haven he was joined by Blaise who put a bottled beer in front of him. Although he wouldn't call it a decent drink he took the bottle immediately, clinked glasses and took a large swallow.

"They're having a good time, don't they?" Draco glanced over to the dancefloor. Blaise was right. The three Slytherins clearly enjoyed dancing to the music.

"It's nice, isn't it? Seeing them carefree."

"Yeah, yeah it is." Draco regarded his friend carefully. A smile was playing around his lips and his eyes lit up but the pain and the tenseness hadn't yet left his face entirely.

His gaze swept back to the people on the floor. Theo was jumping up and down, his arms flaying wildly in every direction. Although Draco wouldn't call it dancing the black haired boy clearly had fun. The last time he remembered Theo being this happy they had been mere kids, 5 or 6 years old.

Daphne had joined her sister and was swaying elegantly to the music. Her movements were smooth but she seemed a bit out of place between the wriggling bodies. As if she belonged more in a ballroom than a club.

Then there was Astoria. Draco couldn't remember to have seen her dance before and he was sure he would if he had. Astoria was not dancing – her body was playing with the music. She changed the way of her movements according to the mood of the song, her body seemed to absorb small details of the tune and switched from a flowing wave to sharp shifts in direction. It was fascinating. Draco had never thought of Astoria as clumsy but she had also never shown any of Daphne's grace. However, here, in this club, her movements were so effortless and natural it was hard to imagine her in any other way.

"Come on, let's join them."

And they did. It was surprisingly easy to ease into the steady rhythm of the drums. A weight seemed to fall from his chest as the sweat began to cover his body and his mind was filled to the brim with music.

Draco's freedom lasted six songs. Then the pendant on his chest burned.

Reality crashed back down on him. The inevitable stares that, naturally, had been present the whole time made his skin crawl, every lip movement caught his eye and his mind pushed the muttered comments of the afternoon back into his thoughts.

"I've got to go." He almost screamed into Blaise's ear to be heard over the deafening music.

"What? Why?"

But Blaise seemed to notice the frantic flicker of his eyes and nodded.

Draco slipped some galleons into Blaise's hand, clapped him on the shoulder and waved to the others before he slipped out of the crowded club. The fresh night air calmed him down somewhat.

It was a pity. He actually had had some fun. However, after he had realised that the shadows hadn't concealed him completely the feeling had been gone anyway.

"Draco!"

He turned around to be met with an out of breath Astoria.

"Damn, that crowd's thick as hell." She mumbled to herself. "What's going on? Why are you leaving?"

„I've got somewhere else to be."

"Really now?" She frowned at him. „And it's got nothing to do with those jerks in there?"

"Honestly Astoria, I would've disappeared a while ago if that'd be the case."

She hesitated but the frown remained on her face.

"Where?"

"Pardon?"

"Where do you have to be in the middle of the night on exactly the day we agreed to spend together?"

"Well, it's more of an arrangement to appear on short-notice."

"You do realise how feeble that sounded, don't you?"

Draco was starting to lose his patience.

"Listen, it's none of your business what I do with my time."

"Touched a nerve there, did I?" But Astoria's smirk slipped from her face and was once again replaced by a frown. "Why are you shutting us out?"

"I'm not. What are you talking about? I just really have to go."

"You always do that. You're this close to opening up or having fun or just generally being happy and then-" Astoria shrugged a sad glimmer in her eyes. "you flee."

"Don't overanalyse. I had fun – it was a nice idea to go to the club. However, there are certain obligations I have to meet and that's why I can't stay. It's got nothing to do with shutting you out-"

Draco flinched. The pendant had burned again. A second time. It had never burned a second time. But he had also never lingered before.

"Look, I really have to go now. Let's meet Sunday for brunch, alright."

"I don't believe you. I don't believe that you've got to be somewhere else. And what the hell is wrong with your chest?"

"Astoria-"

"Take me with you, then." She had raised her head defiantly. "Prove you're not just disappearing again."

"I'm not- damn it, Abbott!"

"What?"

Three times. Draco didn't think that Hannah was an impatient person. It had to be urgent. He changed his mind in a split second.

"Alright. Promise me that you are quiet, though. Observe if you must but keep your comments until later."

"Agreed." They locked eyes and Draco believed her.

"It's not far but we've already wasted time."

Astoria did not hesitate to take his arm. The _crack_ got lost in the hassle around the club.

* * *

"I'm telling you, he's not coming. Now, let go off me. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, George."

The outlines of the blonde former Hufflepuff were slightly blurry and the sound was muffled. However, George was not sure if it was because of the alcohol or the trickle of blood flowing down the side of his face. Of course, there was also his blue eye which was slowly swelling into an impressive lump.

"What's taking him so long?" Even though Hannah only muttered to herself George picked up on it.

"You can push that bracelet as often as you like – it does not change anything. He's clearly not coming."

"Oh, shut it, George. Have a little faith. Draco has yet to fail to show up."

"Honestly, you Hufflepuffs…"

"Ssh, now, will you. You sound like him – it's creeping me out." Hannah glanced worriedly at George's wound. "Maybe we should get you to St. Mungo's."

"Nah, really Hannah I'm fine. If you'd just let me be on my way-"

"Hopefully, Draco is good in healing spells – I've never got the hang of it-"

"I told you – he won't show."

"Did something happen? Why are you so sure?"

"People always leave eventually."

Had George not been lost in his own thoughts he might have felt Hannah's mood change, the small crack that appeared in her posture.

"What happened?" Draco demanded roughly the second he stepped into the pub.

Hannah actually jumped.

"Draco!" Hannah gave Astoria a short glance but other than that ignored the younger girl. "Where have you been?"

"I've been delayed. Now, what happened?"

"Ah, you've been delayed, have you now?" George winked at Astoria. "Good for you."

Malfoy ignored him and looked impatiently to Hannah.

"I really have no idea. He won't say anything. I tried to convince him to go to St. Mungo's but-"

"I'm fine." George took a large swallow of the bottle in his hand. "It's really cute how both of you are all concerned about me, though."

Due to his limited view it seemed as if Malfoy appeared out of nowhere. George blamed it on this fact that the bottle could be snatched from his hand so easily.

"Look at you, Weasley! You're pathetic. How much lower can one sink?"

Glass shattered on the floor. George just blinked in confusion. He seemed to have missed some images, there was no way Malfoy moved this fast.

"Draco!" Hannah's voice.

"You should take a drink, Malfoy. You seem tense." George leaned over the counter to grab a new bottle but was abruptly pulled back. His face was inches away from Malfoy's.

"Careful now. You won't want the only girl who's not freaked out by you get the wrong ideas. And although I'm flattered, I feel obligated to tell you I'm really not interested in this sort of thing."

"How can you talk so much bullshit while it's obviously a struggle for you to sit on a chair."

"It's a gift. Now, what about that drink, eh?"

"You're deluded if you think I take a drink with you."

"Right-" George slapped his hand on the counter and nearly lost his balance. "I forgot. You drink alone." He looked over to the two women. "Have you ever seen him drink? He can take me on any time – it's impressive for someone so small."

George flinched as his jaw was once again grabbed by Malfoy.

"Draco! He's hurt. You can't-"

"Don't tell me what I can or can not do." Malfoy pulled his wand out which George eyed warily. Something tickled his face.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" He pushed the Slytherin away and nearly stumbled over his own feet.

"Well, nothing's broken. I take him home."

"You're sure? Don't you think a healer should look him over?"

"No, he'll be fine. A bit of pain is good for him." Malfoy turned around to Hannah. "What does he owe you?"

"I'm not taking your money." George said glaring at him.

"Just get him home safe, alright?" Malfoy nodded and pulled George into a standing position.

"And Draco-" The Slytherin turned to face Hannah. "are you sure you can, you know, not act on instinct?"

Malfoy actually laughed. "You think I can't handle a bit of teasing? I've attended Hogwarts, you know."

* * *

Astoria regarded them carefully. She soaked in the way Draco dragged the Weasley twin to his flat, rough and sharp, but also careful to catch him when he needed to be caught. She noticed the routine with which they went through it, how naturally Draco opened the door and put the Gryffindor onto the sofa. How his hands found the right cabinet to get a glass of water.

They were not exactly nice to one another but there was a routine to their snarky comments which let the venom disappear. It was no friendship, more a parasitical relationship though she couldn't tell who the parasite was and who the host. On first glance it was obviously Weasley who needed help. However, Astoria had seen Draco quite often over the summer and hadn't once seen him move with such purpose.

"Who are you then?"

Astoria blinked, confused to be spoken to while she was lost in her thoughts. "Sorry?"

"I feel like I should know you." George had propped his head in his hand and regarded her thoughtfully.

"Why should you?" Astoria felt a grin creep onto her face. "Astoria. You may know my older sister Daphne."

"Hm, doesn't ring a bell. She's a major improvement to that pug faced girlfriend of yours though, Malfoy. Well done." George raised the glass of water in a toast to Draco, took a swallow and scrunched his nose.

"I'm still here, you know." Astoria said, half-amused. She hated it to be spoken about but not to – her sister had done it often when they had been younger. But the drunken redhead was way too wasted to be taken seriously.

"Right, right you are indeed. The question, however, is why."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you're obviously here because of him. Which in itself questions your mental stability. Leaving that aside… tell me-" George leant forward slightly, beckoning Astoria closer. "Why is _he_ here?"

"Ahem..."

"You don't know, do you. Tell you a secret – me neither." The ginger began chuckling. "It's like a fucking comedy show, it is. A Death Eater, a pureblood and a bloodtraitor sitting in a kitchen… You know muggle television?"

"Can't you just for once shut the fuck up?" Draco seemed drained.

"Nah. Anyway, you're neglecting your date. Someone has to talk to her."

"Still here." Astoria mumbled.

"Totally forgot: George." The redhead extended his hand to shake hers.

"I know." Astoria rolled her eyes.

"Really?" George scrunched up his face in concentration. "Have we met before?"

"Well no, not exactly, but who doesn't know the infamous Weasley twins?"

"Not much of a twin now, am I?"

Astoria actually felt the atmosphere shift. George's face had grown gloomy. Draco tensed.

"I…" She really didn't know how to respond to that. "I'm so-"

"Eat, Weasley." Draco put the bowl of stew he had been preparing in front of George.

"I'm not hungry."

"You probably haven't eaten all day. So, tuck in."

"Told you, I'm not hungry!"

"You can't survive on alcohol alone, Weasley." Draco sneered at him.

"Ever told you that yourself? Look at you – you're not much better off than I am. Climb down that high horse of yours."

Draco's eyes flickered for a split second to Astoria.

"Eat that damn stew!"

"NO!" George threw the bowl off the table and stood towering over Draco.

"Sit down Weasley." Draco's tone was low but warningly.

"You don't tell me what to do! You and your kind – it's all your fault!"

Astoria saw both men's hands clench into fists, the barely contained anger obvious in the tremors flitting through them.

"Death Eaters scarring my brother, Death Eaters cutting my ear off, Death Eaters killing my-" George's voice broke and tears were gathering in his eyes.

"Do you even know who it is you're dating? Have you ever thought about it? With whom he's mates? What he's done? What he's responsible for?" The redhead pointed an accusing finger at Astoria.

"Or maybe, you're one of them? You are, aren't you?" A murderous glint stole its way into the ginger's eyes.

"Don't blame it on her, alright? She's got nothing to do with it." Draco had stepped between them, shielding Astoria from George.

"But she's with you and you've got everything to do with it, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have. But she has not. She's not with me, she's not dating me, she's done nothing wrong, alright." Draco glared at the redhead. "Go now, Astoria."

"But I can-"

"Should I tell you who else has done nothing wrong? Cedric-" George shoved Draco. "Lupin." He shoved him again. "Tonks." And again.

"Got it, alright?" Draco pushed him back and George stumbled and fell onto the sofa. Draco was trembling slightly.

The redhead clambered upright and drew his wand with shaking hands.

"You got it? YOU GOT IT?"

"Leave, Astoria."

"I can't just let you-"

"GO!"

Astoria staggered backwards. She had never seen Draco so – furious or was it desperate. She had no time to decide. Whatever it was, it made her leave the flat and sit down on the street, her back against the wall, trying to even out her breathing.

After half an hour she contemplated fetching Blaise or Theo. If everything was alright a floor above she knew Draco would never forgive her that she had spilled his secret. But if it was not…

The door opened suddenly and Astoria jumped onto her feet. Draco looked up at the movement and seemed surprised that she was still there.

"Oh my… What happened?"

"You didn't have to wait. It's late."

"What happened?" She asked again, carefully touching the cut on his eyebrow.

Astoria noticed that he didn't flinch away. Instead, Draco took her hand gently away from his face, looking exhausted.

"I'm fine."

Astoria didn't argue. She knew he was not "fine", not in the slightest. It was not the cut or his split lip that hurt him though and therefor she kept quiet. He wouldn't open up now, anyway.

"Let me take you home. It's been a long day." His tone was low and he evaded her eyes.

Astoria swallowed the questions on the tip of her tongue, she swallowed the sorrow and the sympathy because that was the Slytherin thing to do.

As she took his arm to be brought back home, Astoria asked herself once again why it had to be the way it was and why she wasn't Gryffindor enough to change it.


End file.
